Stolen Time
by katamarann
Summary: Set during S3E07 as an explanation for Anna's body language in the servant's hall after Bates's release from prison.


Her entire body was still humming with the distinct release of long pent-up desire, finally quenched after the flash fire of searing passion she and her husband had managed to steal for themselves, carved out of an unexpected but blessed gift of an hour of isolation from the rest of the staff.

Thomas, of course, was making his displeasure at John's return known with glares and snide comments. John - it felt strange to call him that now, even though they had been married nearly a year and a half, and only an hour after he finally coaxed his Christian name from her throat with a cry - seemed to let it slide off of him, as water on a duck's back. He was being careful, she knew, holding his tongue and checking his expression.

As he mended the small handbag for her, Anna let her fingers drift to her neck and collarbone, where the slight burn of John's stubble had so rapturously scraped her flesh as they equally reclaimed each other. She wondered if the pink she'd seen in the mirror of the washroom was noticeable now, though the layer of powder she'd put on to conceal and soothe her skin. It wasn't that she regretted the discomfort, no, rather she wore it as a badge of honour, just as she relished in the ache low in her belly, the fading throb between her thighs, and the tightness of the muscles in her legs.

She felt John nudge her leg beneath the table with his own knee and she risked a smile at him. The rest of the staff went about their business, going on about a movie that the younger ones wanted so see, and she found herself wondering if anyone had any idea what sorts of blissful diversions had gone on just floors above them, only a short time ago.

* * *

It was strange that after a year and a half of incarceration, spending only an hour or so a day outside of his tiny cell, surrounded by thieves and murderers, that being in the open amongst people he considered his extended family would feel stifling.

The servant's dining hall was even more bustling than he remembered, even given the somewhat joyous atmosphere upon his return. He'd never seen Mr. Carson so boisterously welcoming when Anna steered him into the room. Mrs. Hughes seemed to be on the verge of tears, and Molesley practically tore the overcoat from his shoulders in an effort to be helpful. He appreciated it all, he truly did, but despite the general cheer around him, Thomas and O'Brien notwithstanding, he only felt the warm, comforting presence of Anna at his side. They'd seldom spent more than a scant few seconds without some sort of physical contact since he'd first taken her in his arms outside the prison, and despite being in a room full of people, he only had thoughts of her, of how and when they would be able to spend time together. He knew he couldn't hope for _that_ sort of time alone, but he wanted nothing more than to take a stroll on the grounds with his beautiful and blessed wife, see open sky, and enjoy the sweetness of his freedom.

Anna's hand barely left some part of his body as he shoveled Mrs. Patmore's offering into his mouth with far less restraint than he should have shown. Truth be told, she could have given him a baked cow patty and he would have devoured it with gusto, for how much he had missed the taste of real food. Anna's hand stayed on his forearm for the most part, occasionally drifting upward to his bicep and giving him a gentle squeeze, as if to remind herself that he was really there. She kept the conversation going around them as people drifted in and out of the hall as they went about their daily duties.

Finally, his stomach full enough for the time being, he dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin and sat back in his seat a little. Thomas and O'Brien had left for parts unknown, probably trying to hatch some new plot, though they had gone at separate times in separate directions. He remembered Anna mentioning that they hadn't been spending nearly as much time smoking in the courtyard together of late, and that something seemed amiss between them. Perhaps the thieves weren't so thick as they seemed.

John sighed and pressed his hand to the table, glancing over at his wife. "I should get upstairs now," he said quietly. "I'd like a bath and a shave before I go see His Lordship."

Anna nodded and squeezed his hand gently. "And I should change before I see to Lady Mary," she agreed.

They stood up together and sighed almost in unison, knowing that any private reunion they'd hoped for would have to wait. He'd been crestfallen when Anna told him that His Lordship still hadn't let her know about a cottage yet, which meant that he and his wife would be separated in their rooms until their situation changed.

"Mister Bates, Anna," Mrs. Hughes said softly from the hallway as they headed for the stairs. "A word, if I may?"

"Of course," John murmured as Anna touched his elbow briefly. They paused in front of the head housekeeper and he offered her a tired smile.

She glanced back and forth between the two of them, her eyes slightly wide and not meeting theirs. "Of course you know that Thomas has been seeing to His Lordship lately, and he already took care of him this morning," she said.

"Right," John said.

"And I saw to Lady Mary an hour ago, so she won't be needing you until later this evening, Anna," Mrs. Hughes continued. "So you'll have the afternoon free."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Anna replied. "I'm very grateful for your help."

The older woman paused and glanced the stairs before looking toward the dining room, where Mr. Carson was looking over the ledger for the day. "Well," Mrs. Hughes said slowly, in a lower voice. "I think that you need a little time to settle back into your room, Mister Bates, though you'll find that we left it untouched all this time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," John said gratefully, wondering why her voice was getting a little more shaky as she spoke.

Mrs. Hughes's jaw sawed back and forth before her lips pressed together. She closed her eyes for a brief moment before plastering on a smile. "I suppose what I'm getting at is that you need a little peace and quiet this morning," she said beatifically. "So I've made sure that the servant's quarters are off limits for the rest of the morning. At least until ten o'clock." She glanced just over Anna's shoulder. "And Anna, I'm sure you're tired as well and could use a little while to collect yourself. An hour or two, perhaps? The quiet will do you both some good."

John nodded and he felt Anna's hand brush against his almost imperceptibly. "That's very kind of you," Anna said in a firm voice. "More than enough time."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and swallowed, looking sideways again. "I hope so. Who knows when such an opportunity will present itself again?" She smiled and ducked past them toward private office, shaking her head slightly.

"What was that about?" John asked, frowning.

Anna tugged at his sleeve so that he bent down slightly. "It means that she's cleared the upstairs for us for the next…" She stopped and looked at the small clock on the hall table. "Hour and fifteen minutes. No one will be allowed upstairs other than ourselves."

John's throat suddenly went dry at the realization of the gift they'd been given. "Seems a shame to waste that time down here then," he said, taking the first step upwards with Anna at his side. Ninety-three left to go.

He was shaking both with exhaustion and with anticipation as they reached the split between the men's staircase and the women's. He stopped and squeezed Anna's hand tightly, looking to her for what she wanted. Her face was impassive, but she clutched his hand just as tightly and took a deep breath before placing one foot on the men's stairs. They hurried up quickly, not wanting to be caught, and he held her back with one hand when they reached the corner so he could assure that the corridor was clear.

"Mister Carson said he was leaving it unlocked for you this morning," Anna said in a breathy whisper as they reached the familiar old door. "I freshened the linens and dusted just yesterday."

John nodded and swallowed thickly, looking down at the doorknob as if it was red hot from fire. "Anna," he said quickly, in a hoarse whisper. "If you want to go ahead to your own room and change for the day…"

"Are you daft?" she almost hissed. She knocked his shaking hand away from the doorknob and turned it herself, then grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him in behind her. She closed the door and locked it, then leaned against it for support.

Everything was as he remembered, with everything in its place. The room had indeed been dusted, the spartan furniture polished, and he could smell the slightest trace of clean sheets. He exhaled sharply and leaned heavily on his cane as he closed his eyes.

"Mister Bates…" he heard Anna whisper from behind him. Then a bit firmer and closer, "John."

His cane fell to the floor with a clatter as he spun around and took his wife in his arms. As he reclaimed his wife's lips, he only heard the sweet prayer of his name, whispered and whimpered against his tongue.

* * *

The urgency in both of them surprised her. She was surprised that her straight and narrow husband, who even on their wedding night had seemed reserved, was kissing her with the passion of a man falling into an oasis. And was surprised at herself, at the quiet noises she made, at the sudden spike of need deep inside of her, as they alternately pushed and pulled each other across the room toward the narrow bed.

Logistics being damned as they were, and time being short, she knew that they would have to make it work as best as they could. She wasn't going to let something like a narrow mattress keep her from properly welcoming her husband home again. John whispered her name into her ear as she pushed his jacket off and to the floor, then attacked his waistcoat.

"We should slow down," she heard him mumble as his hands betrayed his words and slid up her sides to possessively cup her breasts through her chemise and blouse.

Anna shook her head and reached for the buttons on the front of her blouse, slipping them through the holes with long-practiced swiftness. He seemed to take the hint as he divested himself of his own clothing, and before long, she was down to her chemise and knickers, and he to his pants, bare-chested.

She suddenly stopped and stared at the pale, thickly covered expanse of skin in front of her, so much less so than she remembered. She could practically see his ribs, and his collarbones protruded in a way that tore at her heart. There was also a rough pink patch of skin along his side, in the exact shape of the toe of a heavy boot, and her hand twitched upward to touch it.

"What did they…" the words caught in her throat.

John caught her hand mid-gesture and slowly placed her hand squarely on his chest, above his heart. He shook his head and slid his other hand around her waist to pull her close to him. "It's in the past," he whispered fervently before dipping his lips to hers.

The sweetness was intoxicating. The feeling was dizzying. Before she could fall to the floor, she was lowered to the bed, which mercifully didn't squeak under her weight. John carefully situated himself alongside her, the fit tighter and more precarious than she would have thought, but his strong arm kept her anchored securely to him. Hands began to relearn territory explored a lifetime ago. The remaining layers of fabric were carefully pulled and tossed away until they were flesh against flesh.

Instinctively, Anna brought her leg up and over John's hip in an effort to get closer to him. She gasped loudly when his hand sought out her center, then cried unabashedly when he began coaxing her pleasure from her. This was the bliss that she remembered from a stolen April night long ago, the sensations she felt further heightened by the rasp of his stubble against the crook of her neck. She rocked against his hand and felt his own arousal trapped between them.

Desperate to feel the completion of her husband inside of her, she shifted and pulled his hand away, then twisted her hips against him. "John," she gasped when she felt his hardness against her. "Please."

He was just as needy as she, apparently, as he carefully guided himself into place and slowly pushed into her. The pain immediately made her tense up, and it must have shown on her face as he stopped and kissed her gently. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been on their wedding night, a stretching rather than a tearing and searing ache. She nodded for him to continue after a few moments and as their eyes locked and tears welled in both, he flexed his hips again, then again, fully finding his way into her.

Her smile was genuine as the first wave of pleasure coursed through her body, and she hitched her leg higher to take him in as deeply as she could, given their position. John had his left arm under her head and his right hand pressed into her hip. His fingers, which had always been so soft before, rasped roughly against her skin as he fought for purchase against her, their texture marred by months of hard labour.

Emotion suddenly overcame her and she shuddered against him, screwing her eyes tightly shut and dipping her head against his shoulder. John stopped moving and shushed her quietly. "I'm here," he reassured her. "They won't take me from you again." His words were a vow that broke his own voice.

Anna's nails dug into his back as she wept, in relief and release, in sadness and in joy. They both whispered nonsensical words into each others skin. Every few seconds, his hips would gently move against her, the laziness working against their brief window of solitude. She slid her hand down his side and over her hip to clutch at his thigh, nudging at him to continue.

John's tempo increased, as did the length of his strokes, spurring them both on to completion. Their position didn't afford much of an opportunity for the sort of motion that her body craved, but it was more than enough. Her husband was here, he was alive, and he was with her mind, body, and soul. His breathing began to labour and his movement quickened and with a gasping cry that sounded like her name, he arched against her and collapsed just as quickly, his release overcoming him finally.

Anna smiled against his chest as she nuzzled her nose against the wiry hair she found, drawing lazy circles across his back. Her own breathing was loud in the room, and her skin felt hot and sticky. Her loins ached, her legs quivered, and she was sure that the skin of her neck was raw from his attentions, but she never felt better or more complete.

They made quick order of redressing, mindful of the time, and John - she vowed to call him John whenever they were alone like this - was saying something about needing to get to the washroom to clean himself up before he went to find His Lordship. She herself knew that she needed to do the same, but she was loathe to wash the feel and scent of him off her skin. He peeked out into the hallway before they quickly made their way down the staircase to where the women's stairs split off. They could hear voices below them, likely on the first or second floor, and footsteps coming upward in their direction.

Anna stood up on her toes and kissed him soundly. "I'll see you downstairs for tea, Mister Bates," she said in a teasing voice.

The footsteps grew louder below them. He smiled slyly and quickly grabbed her hand, squeezing her smaller fingers with his thick ones. "I can't wait," he drawled. "I'll ask His Lordship about the cottage."

"Please do," Anna said with a wink before stepping up onto the first step, putting them close to an equal height. "Because I don't want to spend another night away from you, or else we may have to start looking at other places to _reacquaint_ ourselves."

John's chuckle followed her up the steps as she dashed away, blushing furiously at her own boldness as much as the memory of their stolen hour.


End file.
